“Oh my God. Don’t tell me Abby is making you keep this a secret? Because she’s so selfish, it’s all about her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.” She groans in frustration. “I get it, Fitz. I know you think you should have some kind of Lifetime-movie love story like our parents, but sometimes life isn’t like that. You’ve got a skewed vision of reality.”

But that’s the thing. Abby and I did have an epic love story. Just like my parents and my grandparents. “Why are you such a cynic? Wait. Don’t answer.” I’ve gone down this road with Annabel before. She thinks love is all a “social construct,” despite the fact that our own parents have been together for almost thirty years and are still as in love as the day they first met. “I didn’t call to argue with you. I need a place to crash for a little bit.”

Annabel is like a prickly pear—a tough exterior hiding a soft center.

She’s quiet for a few seconds before speaking. “I’m sorry, Fitz, but you can’t stay at my place.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve got three women in a two-bedroom condo. Susie and Christie just got married. It’s not happening.”

She lives with a couple she met in journalism school. They’ve all been roommates since her last year of college.

“I’ll sleep in the bathtub. I’m desperate.”

“One, it’s a stand-up shower. Two, they’re newlyweds and want to be alone. I promised them I would start looking for a new place myself. I’m lucky they’re cutting me some slack since the market is so bad right now.”

A local landowner found a cave full of blue topaz last year, bringing a ton of mining and business to an area just outside our sleepy little town, but also sucking up all available housing. They’ve started building new apartments to fill the gap, but it hasn’t caught up to the demand. It’s a nightmare to find anywhere to live.

“So, then what are my other options?”

“If you can’t stay at home and you can’t stay with me . . . maybe try the housing center on campus?”

“You really think there’s going to be something? It’s a month into the semester.”

“You never know,” Annabel says. “You might get lucky. Or grow a set of balls, tell everyone the truth, and let Abby go to hell.”

“I guess I could give Dad a heart attack as well as a bad back.”

My guilt trip doesn’t work. Annabel just sighs. “Let me know what you decide. And . . . hey, I’ll keep an eye on the ads at the paper. Maybe someone somewhere is renting a room. I’ll get you first look.”

“Thanks, sis.”

We hang up and I rub at my tired eyes.

Guess I’m heading to the housing center.

3

A wise woman wishes to be no one’s enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone’s victim.

—Maya Angelou

Reese

Scarlett’s phone goes straight to voice mail.